The Return of Winter
by Gamblers Choice
Summary: She was a wolf, and five years without snow would not change that. A wolf has a pack, and she was going back home to hers. She is going home to take back what belongs to her, she is going back for vengeance, she is going back to find her brother, and she is going back because home will not stop calling. But winter is coming, and so are the dead. Remember this, Valar Morghulis.


Hey Guys!

Gamblers Choice here, this was just an idea that would not leave me the bloody hell alone, so I decided to work on it. PLEASE R&R! I'd love to continue but I wanna know if you guys like this. Pairing is undecided as of yet, but it is not JonxArya! Please read and enjoy!

_She prowled the frozen tundra, head low, eyes gleaming, and feet all but dancing away from the frigid bite of the crusted snow underfoot. The wind tore across the open plain, kicking up flurries of ice and dust and cold but it did not faze her, because she was winter._

Her skin prickled and gooseflesh rose upon her arms, cold.

_Her pack followed behind her, hundreds strong and counting as she led them onward. She paused, and listened beyond where the blizzard would allow her to see. A ruckus, stone on steel, horses, the flapping of a burlap tent in the wind, the pounding of a picket, the squall of men._

Her ears twitched, aching for a sound that was not there.

_She stalked beyond the trees, saffron eyes burning in the night, a dark phantom against an almost darker sky. A horse, black, shaggy, and crusted with ice screamed when it saw her, and she stepped aside as several of her bolder cousins mauled the beast. She turned away; her prey was elsewhere and struck out towards the small, trembling shelter in her view. Before she could investigate, four men, all swaddled in heavy furs and bearing a stag set ablaze, emerged from the tent, stumbling and no doubt drawn by the cries of the horse. Even armed with steel and plated in mail and mesh, they presented a laughable challenge at best. She launched at the largest one, her jaws clamped like a vice around his neck and she brought him crashing to the ground. Blood, hot and steaming, dribbled on her chin and ran warm down her throat as she made her kill, and watched the life fade from his dark eyes._

She licked her lips, and the metallic tang of blood ghosted across her tongue.

_She lie down, belly full and yet still not content as she watched her pack fight for whatever remaining scraps of the twelve men and their horses there were. Blood speckled and stained the coat of every wolf there, the smell strong and yet not as strong as something else, something worse. She growled lowly, the sound low and guttural as she stood, and raising her nose to the wind caught a scent that made her fur bristle and her hackles rise. She smelled death and cold, both riding on the northerly wind. _

Her nose itched, and she caught a phantom whiff of something before it quivered and she snorted.

_Uneasy, and feeling the pull again she moved on, following the open road, yet hidden in the shadows of the snow burdened trees. It wasn't long, dawn not yet broken when she stopped, and with burning yellow eyes she gazed upon the wall of ice that seemed to stretch forever. She found the top, and even through the darkness of the night and the harshness of the storm she glimpsed the moon, shining and bright before it was snuffed out once more. She felt the urge well up inside her, huge and as old as the moon itself it rose up through her, and riding on a thousand years of instinct she pointed her nose to the moon and howled the song of winter._

Arya, Needle already in hand, bolted from the confines of bed, her scratchy woolen blanket left in a heap on the damp floor, and her tattered hammock twisted in her haste. Little droplets of sweat trickled down her pulsing temple as she steadied herself against the rolling floor beneath her, shifting her weight with the waves as they gently rocked the boat. Steely eyes flickered here and there in the dark, as if searching for something, and for a moment all she could hear was her heart, which thumped loudly in her ears.

She swallowed, and slipped behind a girl's mask, one that she had worn for many years, and quiet as a shadow she crept up to the decks of the _Bravoosi Whore,_ where nothing but the frigid gloom and biting chill of a northern blizzard cared to greet her. Of course, it was always snowing in the north, even during summer. She stilled, cold grey eyes searching the dark, white washed horizon as a calloused hand rested on her hip, fingers ghosting over Needle's hilt as she waited… anxiously, as she would call it. Though, truly she had forgotten what it felt like to be anxious, or happy, or anything but anger and hate for that matter.

A moment passed and suddenly she could hear the howl of a wolf, long and low and not so very far away, sound out against the darkness. Something nearly forgotten stirred inside her, rousing from a six-year slumber, it pulled at her bones and was calling her name.

_You are no longer no one_. She thought. _You are Arya Stark, you are a wolf, and that is your pack calling you home!_ Unbidden, she cupped her hands around her mouth and howled back through the fog, and again the wolf – wherever it was – answered. Her dry, chapped lips quirked slightly up as she watched the horizon struggling to be seen through the storm. Snow that found its way underneath her hood, melted and her lightly tanned cheeks turned pink and raw, buffeted by the storm. But she was winter, and for all the cold and snow and ice in the world, she would rather be here than baking in Braavos. She watched her breath forming little white puffs of steam that would tumble away with the next squall of wind, listened to the Braavosi Whores hull as it fought to break through the nights ice on the Last River, and she thought about the North and the wolves and how winter was truly coming.

For a while, she simply stood there. A dark point against the darker storm, her heavy furred cloak flapping in the wind, a bastard's smile resting at her hip, and thought about how Arya was coming home. Thought about how Arya Stark, not No One, or Beth, or Cat, or Salty, but Arya Horseface, was coming home. It had been hard to break free of No One, of what No One did not know and would not remember, of who No One was and what they had done. Granted, she would carry No One's actions, memories and most importantly their monsters as Arya Stark. But as Arya Stark she had stolen back her own memories, memories of a dead father and brother and mother, of a sister in the lions den, of two brothers dead by another, and of one brother who meant more than the world to her. And memories of a stubborn bull, but for now all she cared for was wolves.

The heavy fall of footsteps on the frozen, rotting deck drew her slight attention, but Arya kept her eyes trained on the horizon she could barely see. A hand, whose warmth she could feel even through the cloak she donned, clasped her shoulder and unconsciously, her fingers curled around Needle's hilt.

"Relax M'lady." A voice, gruff and salty like the sea rasped out. She could smell the putrid stench of wine and sweat on him, and recognized the voice it to be Ser Derik's; By the look of his graying brown locks and his poorly hidden southern accent, a lowborn Tyrell who had tried (and failed) to make a name for himself. "Those wolves won't harm ya'. S'long as ya' stay clear of the forests, have good men with ya' and keep a fire going you'll be fine."

Arya nearly smirked under the shadows of her cloak, _oh but dear Ser, it is you who should be wary of the pack,_ she thought, but forced a shiver through her body all the same. After all, the young, innocent daughter of a Braavosi horse merchant should have a healthy fear of wolves and beasts alike. She turned around, hard pressed not to gag on the smell his body radiated after a full moon without wash, and batted her eyes at him. "Thank you, good Ser." She said, playing her part without flaw. "But are there not other beasts that roam the north? A girl has heard that there are also lions to be found there."

Ser Derik snorted, spittle catching on his soiled beard. "Lions?" He asked, his grubby hand slipping dangerously low upon her back. "M'lady, I beg your pardon but there 'ave never been lions this far north. Not since the time o' the first men, o' that I can assure you." He grinned at her with a mouth full of dark and rotting teeth. "But, if M'lady is so worried about 'er safety, I'm sure I could provide a littl'-"

A shout from the crow's nest interrupted the captain, much to Arya's relief. She truly hated playing the game of cat and mouse when the mouse turned out to be a stupid, salty pig. "Cap'in! Ser Cap'in Derik!" A scrawny boy called, his pale, pimply head poking out from the edge of his perch.

"What?" The captain hollered back, his hand reluctantly slipping from her back to join the other around his mouth. "Out with it ya' bastard! What is it?"

The scrawny boy, frightened pointed towards the horizon, and she followed his arm to see the dawn of day, fighting to break through the gloom of the storm that sat, suspended above the waters of the Last River. Peering through the flurries, she could just make out the small, inland port of the Last Hearth, her port of call, as it grew larger on the horizon. "See Cap'in!" The boy shouted from the crow's nest. "The port is in sight! Shall I alert the crew?"

"You bloody bastard! Stay put ay'!" Ser Derik shouted, not without an irritated huff for disturbing what he no doubt considered to be wooing, and then barked at the first mate to get the _Bravoosi Whore_ ready to dock. "Please forgive me M'lady." He slurred, dark eyes clearly drawn to where he was sure her breasts hid beneath her cloak. "The boy is new. I just took 'em up, saved 'em from a orphanage 'en Braavos I did."

Her steely eyes narrowed, and beneath the darkness of her hood she scowled. _Lies_. She thought, fingering the well-worn leather of Needle's hilt. _You threatened to kill his whore mother at some northern whorehouse if he didn't come with you, and then killed her anyway._ The boy clearly was of northern heritage, his sharp angular face and dark hair made sure of that. _Yet this buffoon intends to pass him off as his good deed, a Braavosi boy he's saved._

The buffoon, continued on. "Now, surely M'lady would like some help with her stallion. He's quite the creature, but I'll 'ave you know that he is a dangerous beast. Not to be messed with."

_But Ser Derik, you have no idea_. Her lips quirked beneath a well-placed palm and the sound of a giggle as the stallion in question screamed bellow deck, crying out his displeasure of the sea. "A girl would thank you for your offer good Ser, but a girl can handle him herself. A horse has got a bit of a soft spot for maidens."

The captain grinned lecherously, "Well he is not the only one, M'lady who 'as a soft spot for the innocent girl."

Arya giggled, as it was wont for a lady to do, and inside marveled at how the art of subtlety seemed to blow by this pig completely. The chatter of gulls and the babel of people reached her ears, and she chanced a look at the port, and saw that they were almost upon it. _Thank the seven_. She thought, before forcing another sweet smile at her piggy captain. "Good Ser, it has been a most pleasurable voyage with you this past moon, but a girl is afraid its time for her to bid a man goodbye."

"A'right M'lady." He said, kissing her hand with fat, warty lips. "Just know that if ya' ever need a littl'… relaxation, you'll know where to fin' me."

Arya quickly weighed the consequences of breaking character now, rather than waiting to come back for him later like she intended. Her bag was packed, her horse ready, the boat was docking now, and nearly the entire crew, saw for the pimply lookout was below deck, probably trying to wrangle her horse. She could afford to do the job now. Her eyes gleamed with the lust of a kill, and she sported a roguish grin that spoke of danger before whirling around, "But of course, a girl will find a man dead atop a whore. This, a girl is sure of."

His jaw dropped and the captain's grubby fist reached for the sword on his belt. "You wench-"

She was already upon him, as quick as a snake she had drawn Needle and buried the sword within the fat captain's bulging gut. She leaned in close to his neck, relishing the look of his wide and frightened eyes before she whispered in his ear. "A man has stolen a death from the Red God, and so a girl must give it back. But only a death can pay for that" She grinned and pushed Needle forward, only stopping once she struck his spine.

Arya stepped back, watching as the fat man crashed to the floor in a pool of blood, choking on red spittle. "Why?" He croaked, eyes bulging with fear.

She grinned under the cover of darkness, and knelt beside him. "Valar Morghulis" She whispered, her voice the song of death as she opened him ear to ear. She stood, wiping Needle off on her tunic before she returned the sword to its scabbard. _All men must die_. She thought, a smirk upon her lips before she turned, swift as a deer and fled to the bowels of the ship.

Arya dropped by her quarters quickly, and snatched up her bag before following the too familiar sound of striking iron, thundering hooves and the occasional shout of a man who was stupid enough to get close. She ducked through the heavy door, into the hold and quickly surmised that there were a lot of stupid men on board. Two men sat on crates, their necks and shoulders bleeding from crescent wounds while another four fought to restrain the massive black, rearing beast inside the cargo hold. _Very stupid men._ She thought, watching as the stallion tore at another man who had tried to grab his reins.

"Ay' ya' bloody stupid beast!" One man, dressed in the most peculiar furs shouted as he attempted to grab the stallions ear. He was bit.

"Donel! Seven Hells, just kills the fucking thing already!" Another, much more boyish grunt called as he too tried to reach for the bridle.

Arya stood in the doorway, watching with slight amusement as several full grown, muscled men tried to conquer the raging destrier. _Very, very stupid men. _Arya mused, before thinking that the beast took after its master.

If the Hound had been cruel, than his horse was an abominable sadist. Stranger was as ruthless as they came, and anyone was a fool's fool for believing that she was taking him to be a standing stud for the. Stranger would sooner kill a mare than fuck her.

Yet as crazy as the stallion was, Arya supposed that she was just as mad for taking the beast with her to Braavos, selling him, and then buying him back once she deserted the House of Black and White. She could have easily just left the beast with it's dying master, but instead she took both him and Craven, telling herself it was only because the Hound wouldn't need a horse where he was going, and because two horses would fetch more silver than one. Yet somehow Stranger ended up on that ship to Braavos with her, and she – after selling him once she'd joined the house of black and white – hunted him back down before getting on this blasted ship.

Arya smirked, and watched another man get kicked to the floor before she approached the screaming best and the stupid men.

The one dressed in funny furs – Donel she believed – immediately jumped to his feet, one hand clutching the bite on his neck while the other equally mangled hand thrust out in front of her. She growled under her breath. "Oi! Where d'ya think y'ar going girl? This ain't no pony here."

She scowled, and put the point of her sword to his belly. "A girl thinks she is going home." She ground out, before shoving past the strange furred man. She stalked up to the beast, but not before whistling twice, sharp and fast.

The massive, black stallion snorted and his ears swiveled to focus behind him, on her. He danced impatiently and tossed his head and Arya vaulted herself onto with the skill and ease of a practiced rider. Of course, when you were Arya Stark, riding came as naturally as breathing.

Beneath her, Stranger grunted and reared, striking out at the same time in some testosterone induced rage. Arya bared her teeth a bit, five years with the beast had not made him like her anymore, and in fact they constantly bickered and fought yet she rode him better than any horse she'd ever known. She yanked on the reins, steering Stranger towards the gaping hole in the belly of the ship.

For a moment, despite the commotion, her stomach lurched. It had been five years since she had seen snow outside, on the ground, in the air, anywhere. And yet it suddenly dawned on her – _When you're made of winter, five years can feel like a lifetime. _Something strange twisted in her belly, but Arya ignored it, for emotions were not something she could welcome easily anymore. Instead she pointed Stranger forward, and kicked him in the gut. In an instant he was moving, swift as a deer, feet thundering over the gangplank out onto the soft snow. Behind her came the cries of several angry men but all Arya could hear was the wind in her ears.

She cantered Stranger through the town, careful to avoid the many icy patches on the cobblestone. The town was nearly deserted, but the folk that were out, swaddled in many heavy furs gave her strange looks as she raced by, but as long as they stayed out of her way she cared not. In only minutes, Arya was out of the Last Hearth, the castle looming faintly in the distance, but she continued along the Last River. She knew it would meet up with the Kingsroad, and from there she could follow it north, all the way to the wall.

_See Sansa_, she thought, squinting through the blizzarding snow. _I did pay attention to those lessons, the important ones_. Her tummy clenched as she thought of her sister, and something she could vaguely describe as guilt washed through her. She should be heading south, hell; she should have docked at Gull Town in the Eyrie, or the White Harbor. She should be racing towards Winterfell where that Bastard Bolton claimed she was, or she should be climbing the mountains of the moon to see if the rumors were true and that her sister was at the Vale.

Yet, instead she found herself going north. Wanting to go as far north as she could. She wanted to go through the gift and beyond, she wanted to go where people were running from, where the monsters from old Nan's stories were, where the Wildlings are. She wanted to go north, because Arya Stark wanted to see Jon. He was her pack and she his, and they had been separated for far too long. And Jon she would see, because his smile had brought her back.


End file.
